


Life Of Swifts

by Reu_Tei



Category: Bump of Chicken (Band)
Genre: Chama is hopelessly in love, Childhood Friends, Dubious happy ending, M/M, Mentions of smut but no real smut, More like kindergarten friends, Motoo is oblivious, Or Is he?, Pseudo-Biography, a bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 17:30:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10518468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reu_Tei/pseuds/Reu_Tei
Summary: Motoo flies out of the very first grade of high school on wings of freedom. The scariest part of it is that Chama can't follow.





	

Blocks

The playroom is packed to the brim with all kinds of toys. Cars, planes, robots and doll houses, tea sets, teddy bears and even samurai figurines, scattered all around. Still, all this treasure is only a consolation prize to those who end up being late for the main entertainment, blocks. Yoshifumi doesn't know why they are so popular, he's quite satisfied with cars and planes. Nonetheless, he runs with the others towards a huge cardboard box and dives in almost to the waist, scooping with both hands as many as he will be able to carry in his shirt. He's not really interested in blocks, but Mo-chan likes them a lot. Mo-chan is half a year older, and he also lives half the length of their town further from their kindergarten. That's why he always arrives too late, when all the blocks are already taken. Seeing Motoo crying from dismay yesterday motivated Yoshifumi to run at breakneck pace today, pushing his peers aside to get to the box first. If teachers notice his behavior, he will certainly be punished. But as long as no one yells at him or grabs him by his ear, he shoves as many blocks as he can into his shirt, squeezes two more under his chin and trots to a piano, carefully holding his overstuffed "belly" with both hands. None of the other kids are interested in the piano. None can play it, and since all of them are forbidden to play with or around it, they had lost interest long before they could learn how to tap Twinkle Twinkle Little Star with one finger. Unlike them, Yoshifumi is quite interested in the piano. Mainly because Motoo can play it like a pro, but also because its varnished frame is covered with a stiff cloth, very handy for hiding blocks under. Yoshifumi spreads them over the lid, careful not to let any of them bulge beneath the cloth. He smiles to his thoughts and bounces a little with impatience. Actually, he's ready to do backflips and cartwheels all over the place, just imagining the way Mo-chan will smile once he sees what Yoshifumi prepared for him. He must snatch Mo-chan's attention before Hiro though. Mo-chan always smiles at Hiro in a special way, like upon seeing a very close friend. Yoshifumi wants to receive that kind of smile too.  
Half an hour later, when Mo-chan enters the playroom, Yoshifumi runs ahead, making it to him first. He grabs his hands and practically sweeps him towards the piano.  
"Look, look what I've got here for you! You can play with these!"  
A gap-toothed smile Mo-chan gives him once he looks under the cloth is the best thing Yoshifumi has ever seen in all five years of his life.

Voice

Strangely enough, Chama has never heard Motoo sing during their time in kindergarten. The first time he does they're already in second grade of elementary school. That day Hiro hangs out at his place. They watch TV while Chama's parents aren't home. Hiro's in love with a song by a popular singer, although it would be more precise to say he's head over heels for the singer herself. He's prepared to sit in front of the telly for hours, clicking the remote controller and surfing through channels, waiting to see a glimpse of his music goddess. Unfortunately for Chama, he himself is sorely indifferent to both the singer and her song. Still, he must endure endless repetitions of popular hits as well as his friend's soulful sighing without complaint. Hiro doesn't get music channels at home, and Motoo's parents are ridiculously strict, not allowing him to hang out with friends until he's done with his homework for the day. Moreover, despite Hiro never saying a word, Chama suspects he is not a little afraid of Motoo's father. With that, there is practically no way for him to get into Motoo's house. Having no better option, Hiro goes to Chama-bocchama with his nice spacious room, friendly parents and cable TV with several music channels. Perhaps Chama is being unfair to him, they're good friends too after all. It's just that sometimes he can't help but feel like he's no more than a Plan B to both of his friends.  
"Hey, look!" Hiro cries out, shaking Chama out of a cloud of dark thoughts. "That's the song Fujiwara always yowls when he's in a good mood. So that's how it is supposed to sound!" Hiro dissolves into a fit of cheerful squeaks that pass for his laughter these days. Chama, on his part, feels like he's been knocked over with a dusty sack.  
"Motoo can sing?" he asks weakly, not really understanding how such an important aspect of Motoo's life could slip past his attention. Hiro gives him a quizzical look.  
"Everybody can sing, Chama."  
"No, I mean... So how does it sound?"  
"Well, okay, I guess? Just - normal." Hiro shrugs and turns back to the telly, rapidly losing interest in the subject. "Try to catch him in a good mood if you want to hear it so badly," he suggests as an afterthought and smiles, like only a person who heard Motoo's voice and remained indifferent to it can.

Chama manages to catch him in a "good mood" later that evening. The same evening he finds out Motoo doesn't only sing when he's in a good mood.  
They meet at an empty playground, somewhere between their houses. Motoo is late, as usual. The guy seems to be virtually incapable of coming anywhere on time. Still, Chama doesn't mention it today; he saw how Motoo ran up the slope, like all the world's demons were on his tail.  
Chama perches himself on the highest crossbeam of a climbing cube. Motoo stays below. He sits on a seesaw, leaning on a backrest and staring into the clear evening sky. A huge red mark on his cheek seems to glow even brighter in the sunset light.  
"You've been punished again, haven't you?" Chama asks to break the silence. Motoo turns away, a detached expression on his face giving way to a sour one. "What was it about, this time? Mo-chan," Chama calls out after not getting any answer. "Did you talk back to your father again?"  
"It wasn't talking back. I just voiced my opinion. I have a right to have my own opinion."  
There's no questioning inflection in Motoo's voice. As usual, he's certain of his principles and convictions. Chama doesn't doubt he was actually right this time, as well as many times before. He just wishes Motoo would keep his opinions to himself a bit more and get slapped for them a bit less.  
"What did you tell him?"  
"Just... stuff." Motoo shrugs vaguely and leans on the seesaw's backrest again. Chama looks at his face, washed in pink and golden light, at the slowly disappearing mark on his cheek and a thick fringe all the teachers in their school hate so much. Motoo's eyes are closed, his lips are half-opened. Still, his expression indicates he is not going to share any details of his latest fight with his father. Chama watches him some more and then leaps down right from the crossbar he was sitting on. His heels smart terribly from the impact and he thinks he heard something crack in his ankle. He still pretends the landing was perfect and does his best not to limp as he walks towards the seesaw. Motoo slowly resurfaces from the depths of his thoughts and shifts his attention back to Chama, looking at him a bit perplexedly, like realizing only now that he's been here all along. Chama lifts his arm to reach for a hoisted half of the seesaw and Motoo raises himself immediately, leveling the board to let Chama perch on his end.  
"You know, Hiro came today," Chama says, pushing off the ground slightly.  
"Tried to catch his beloved Fumi-chan?"  
"Yeah. And there was your song. The one you always yowl." There's a funny feeling in a pit of Chama's stomach, a sudden fluster. Trying to get rid of it, he leans back abruptly, stretches his legs out and smacks his seat down onto the ground. In the same second Motoo squeals hilariously from high above.  
"A little warning would be nice, asshole!"  
Chama's tailbone is stinging like crazy, but at least the wistful expression has flown off Motoo's face. Now he's wiggling in his seat and twitching his legs, trying to weigh down his side of the seesaw. To no avail, of course. Chama is heavier, and besides, he's still leaning on the backrest with his legs outstretched and hands crossed over his chest, all for additional weight.  
"Put me down!" Motoo demands, bouncing in his seat, still hoisted up in the air.  
"Only if you sing for me."  
Chama knows that his cheeks are aflame right now; his whole face feels like it could kindle matches from a mere touch. It's pretty dark on the playground though, and he's sitting with his back to the setting sun, so maybe Motoo won't notice anything. All the more so, with an eyesight as bad as his. He will certainly not notice anything out of ordinary. With a new rush of confidence, Chama decides to go into an assault again.  
"Hiro said you could sing, so sing, Mo-chan," he says, trying to smirk as carefree as possible. "And I will listen."  
Above him, Motoo stops fidgeting. Sitting absolutely still, he stares at Chama intently and then tilts his head to the side, obviously interested in a new topic.  
"What do you want me to sing then?"  
"Anything," Chama says a bit breathless. He can't believe his luck and he is definitely not feeling too picky at the moment. "You can sing the one you always yowl."  
"I don't yowl anything."  
"That's what Hiro said, not me!"  
"I don't yowl!"  
Motoo is rapidly slipping back into the bad mood, definitely not the most desirable turn of events for Chama. He frantically racks his memory, trying to grasp a name of a song or a singer both Motoo and him like, until he stumbles upon the one he needs.  
"Michael Jackson, that's right! Sing something by him!"  
That promptly calms Motoo down. For a few seconds he bores holes in Chama's forehead with his heavy glare, then blinks once, twice, and looks away.  
"I don't know the correct lyrics though; it's all in English..."  
"Just sing, Mo-chan."  
The following silence goes on for so long that Chama despairs to hear even Motoo's speech again, never mind his singing. When he's already about to give up and level the seesaw, a whole series of odd noises greets him from above, like someone's hiccupping really breathy. Then comes a voice.  
High and pitchy, and occasionally outright squeaking, that's what Motoo's voice turns out to be. Chama doesn't know why he was expecting something more impressive, more mature and solid. Motoo's singing doesn't feel like a superpower, nor a magical gift bestowed upon him by supreme forces, nothing like that. On the contrary, it feels as natural as his daily speech. A little more rhythmic, a bit more vibrant and melodic, but overall it sounds absolutely... normal. Chama understands now why Hiro chose to say that. He couldn't possibly describe it any other way.  
The song Motoo has chosen is really silly in Chama's opinion, all weird clicking noises and yelps. And he sings it in some gibberish, no doubt. Still, as he sings it, suspended in the air, illuminated with the rays of evening sunlight like with limelight, he stops being just Motoo, an eight year old kid with crooked teeth and a long fringe. While he is up there Chama can only imagine him standing high on a stage, singing before an endless sea of fans, basked in their attention and love. Starting this moment Chama won't ever be able to get this image out of his head.  
He must go out on stage, this radiant image. All of Japan must get to know and fall in love with his voice. Better still, the entire world.  
"Happy now?" Motoo asks once he's finished with the last chorus, licking his parched lips. "Will you put me down now?"  
Chama inhales deeply, and exhales. There's a peculiar ache growing within his chest, although it's not unpleasant. Chama has never felt anything like that before. He notices that he's sitting with his mouth open, and as he's about to close it, his lips stretch involuntary into a wide, utterly idiotic, happy smile.  
"You're going to be a superstar, Mo-chan!" he laughs and pushes off the ground with a gleeful whoop.

Masu

When Chama imagined Motoo on stage, he never expected to witness his rise to glory from anywhere other than the audience below. Certainly not from his right on the same stage. However, that's exactly the place he finds himself in. Or, more specifically, it's the place Chama puts himself in when a certain Masu Hideo approaches Motoo and him during the break before a double PE, asking Motoo to join his band.  
"You're the Fujiwara who always screeches songs in school," Masu says. Chama doesn't like the way he's staring down at Motoo haughtily, with pursed lips and condescending attitude. He keeps his mouth shut for the time being though. He's too curious how Motoo is going to respond.  
Around the second grade of junior high Motoo shifted from singing for his own ears to doing it for the whole world to hear. In other words, he sings whenever and wherever he pleases now, shutting up only by his father's or teachers' direct orders. Other people's possible discomfort is not a good enough reason for him to zip it.  
Along with that, Motoo got used to being called all variations of noisy so he is not at all offended by Masu's choice of words.  
"Yeah, it's me. Want me to sing something for you?"  
"That won't be necessary."  
"Why did you come then?" Chama asks, earning himself an even haughtier glance from Masu. He gives him his most irritating grin in return.  
"I want to form a band," Masu says, looking like he had been certain of the utter pointlessness of this conversation from the very start. "I'm calling dibs on drums. Are you capable of anything at all?"  
"I am capable of some things," Motoo answers, looking like he's never had a more boring conversation in his entire life.  
"I'm very capable too!" Chama adds with a contrived enthusiasm.  
It's considered uncool to get genuinely excited about things in their school. So it's with a well-concealed amusement that Chama watches these two trying to make it look like they're not interested in each other in the least. Well, he has said the truth about himself. He is generally quite capable, false modesty aside.  
"I'll try bass though," he elaborates with a more sincere smile this time and jabs his elbow into Motoo's ribs. "Mo-chan, you'll be on piano then!"  
"Piano in a rock band? Are you retarded? Besides, I've already forgotten how to play. I'll try guitar."  
"We're in," Chama concludes despite the fact that not five minutes ago he wasn't even planning to join any bands. "Hey, aren't you going to listen to him now?"  
Masu, who was just about to leave, satisfied with their answer, turns around and gives first Chama, then Motoo a look of absolute disdain.  
"Singing in school is so lame," he says. "See you both after classes."  
Once he's left, Chama turns to Motoo, finally cracking up.  
"What a retard. Why did you agree, Mo-chan?"  
"What do you mean 'Did I agree?'. It was you who decided for both of us!"

Fuji-kun

Just as the first Bump of Chicken performance ends up a huge success, their second one turns out a total fiasco. After the Christmas show they had been preparing so earnestly for and which gathered no more than a mere dozen onlookers instead of expected hundreds they're so dispirited they decide to lay the band aside for awhile. But not music in general, of course. In retrospect, it was absurd to assume Motoo would give up on music. Chama is the one whose day is scheduled by minutes. But Motoo, he knows, Motoo spends hours in a school library browsing through encyclopedias on the excuse of having nothing better to do. That's where he and Masu are discovered and promptly recruited into another band by some upperclassmen. Those other guys, they play punk. And they suck at it, judging from Masu's never-ending grumbling. Chama rarely sees Motoo these days so again, it's Masu from whom he learns that there are four members in the band, that they are not serious about their music and that their guitarist, being the vocalist concurrently, plays rather poorly and sings even worse. Chama fishes only two key points out of this flood of exasperation, them being that Motoo is the lead guitarist in that band and that Motoo doesn't sing there. The latter one feels really important to Chama for some reason. Motoo isn't set on going places with these guys, he just kills time playing with them. Still, even realizing it Chama can't help feeling an almost childish grudge that he wasn't invited. He feels even more bitter once he finds out Motoo has got a new pet name. A truly wonderful one, and this time Chama wasn't the one to give it to him.

"Mo-chan!" he yells when they meet in a school yard and jumps on Motoo's back. Motoo wavers noticeably from the additional weight that's suddenly dropped on him and then, with huffs and grumbles, begins to tear Chama's hands off his neck.  
"Get off, you idiot, you're too heavy!"  
"No way, Mo-chan, I missed you so much!" Chama cries out, crossing his legs around Motoo's waist more securely. "Let's ride and chat some!"  
"Where do you want to go?" Motoo asks resignedly.  
"Dunno, probably to where your legs will eventually give out. Let's go!" Chama commands with a laugh, throwing out his hand.  
Motoo begins to stagger dangerously from the very first step, but somehow they manage to get to the nearest bench, accompanied by curious looks and small laughs all the while, without crumbling into a heap of shattered bones and painful disgrace. Motoo drops Chama off first and then, with a great puff, joins him on the bench, spreading his coltish limbs all over the backrest and the seat.  
"As good at entertaining yourself as ever, I see," he says, still panting and swiping sweat from his temples.  
"You need to exercise, Mo-chan! You're too thin and scrawny, girls won't like you like that."  
"Like I care!"  
"Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Mo-chan!" Chama laughs but trails off quickly after noticing Motoo's heavy stare, the one he usually has when he wants to say something but tries to keep it to himself. "What is it?"  
"No one calls me that anymore, you know. Have you heard?"  
"Yeah, Hide-chan told me," Chama says, suddenly all too bored.  
"You don't like it, do you? I can see that you don't. Why?"  
Chama doesn't want to explain so he just shrugs uncertainly.  
"I'm not complaining that you're still putting the "chan" to my name despite us not being children anymore," Motoo says seriously. "I really don't mind. You're my first friend so you can call me whatever you want. But you know…" And here his face blooms into an enigmatic smile, "You know why I was really glad when Masu called me that?"  
"Why?" Chama asks softly, unable to look away from Motoo's smiling face.  
"These upperclassmen we rehearse with, they really suck, you know. Play like crap and pretend to be Sex Pistols, to say the least. And they get really superior with Masu and I, like we're a bunch of inexperienced kids. Although in fact we have more experience than them," he adds, waggling his finger between himself and Chama. "So recently I was sitting there during a really shitty rehearsal and thinking, "What am I doing here? How have I ended up being here? Who are all these people?" And then suddenly Masu chips in from behind his drums and tells me, "Let's play this song, Fuji-kun." Do you know what I felt when I heard that? I felt that I wasn't alone there. That Masu was there with me as a part of my own band, as well as yours, and his too. The two of you and Masukawa, you're my best friends and my real band, although we're not playing right now. It was like Masu illuminated the full picture for me when he called me Fuji-kun. I realized that wherever and whomever I was with, I would always be a part of you, and you - a part of me. I was so happy in that moment. And now I'm okay with being in a band with those guys again.”  
"So you're not going to leave them?" Chama asks, so utterly surprised that his tears dry before he can even start weeping. He has already imagined how Motoo's revelation would lead to a renewal of their band. Apparently, it wouldn't.  
"I can't," Motoo says. "We have a deal to play together until the cultural festival and then we'll see how it goes from there. I'll drop out after the festival. Masu won't stay either, I'm sure. These guys aren't really a good bet. Not good enough for my songs."  
"Are you writing something, Fuji-kun?" Chama asks, plastering an impish smile on his lips. They are trembling traitorously though, and he's almost crying again from how light he feels inside.  
"Definitely writing something, Yoshiumi-kun," Motoo says, giving him a wide smile in return. "If you behave well I'll even sing it for you."

Glass no Blues

Motoo flies out of the very first grade of high school on wings of freedom. The scariest part of it is that Chama can't follow. Motoo has always been too independent, too stubborn and standalone to tolerate the compulsory, by the book, lifestyle for too long. Chama has been suspecting since forever that one day Motoo would flit away into the future first. Disappear behind the horizon without a trace, leaving all of them behind and below. Chama is too used to standing by Motoo's right side by now though, not to be scared of losing that spot.  
It gets even worse when Motoo decides to move to Tokyo. At this point, it's not just a different lifestyle, it's virtually a different planet for the three of them, staying in Chiba to sit behind the school desk for two more years. It’s not that they start to see each other less often than when Motoo was still living in Sakura, attending high school. Back then, they were completely absorbed in their studies, school festivals, career guidance and plans for the future, so they met only once or twice a week, mainly on Tuesdays. These days they still gather on Tuesdays, when Motoo comes to visit them, except now Chama can't concentrate on anything else but a desire to throw his school desk out of the window, pack his things and move to Tokyo. To share a flat with Motoo, to work at the same places with him, to play his songs and perform on the same stage. He can't do all of that, of course he can't. Wings of freedom had never been bestowed upon him, and he is too afraid to soar up above the abyss without a safety wire. Motoo comes home, nearly transparent from malnutrition but with his fair share of anecdotes of how recently he had to spend a night on a park bench again and how after that he had to go sing in front of a mall to earn some money for dinner. He jokes and laughs as he shares the most incredible stories about a life in the megalopolis but his eyes give him away. Chama can see it in his eyes, how lonely and difficult it is for him to hold afloat, all alone in a huge foreign city. He feels awful for Motoo, who's been practically driven out of his father's home, but he feels even worse when he tries to picture himself in the same situation. 

One day, when Motoo is still living in Sakura, he brings them a song. All of his previous texts for the band were in English, even their band's name ended up being a bunch of English words. Glass no Blues however is the first one Motoo writes in Japanese. On that Tuesday, he comes to their gathering at Chama's place the last, as usual. After going upstairs and entering the room he produces a sheet of paper from his bag, a bit crumpled, covered end to end with writing, and holds it out to them without a word. Masu is no less confused than the others are by such solemn presentation. Still, he raises from his place on the floor to take it first.  
"What do you have here, Fuji-kun? A new song?"  
Motoo only murmurs something about a cat, then climbs onto Chama's bed, taking a guitar along with him. Once comfortably there, he turns his back to them, crosses his legs and begins to strum an unfamiliar melody. Masu reads. Then re-reads. After reading it up the second time, he silently passes the sheet to Hiro. Chama feels more uncomfortable by the second in this heavy atmosphere. He wants to flop down next to Motoo and inquire closely what the hell is going on and what this sacred manuscript scribbled down on a piece of paper is, and why does it leave everyone speechless. He decides not to bother Motoo for now though. Instead, he asks Masu in a low voice, "So, what was that, there?"  
"A song," Masu says, smiling a bit perplexedly. "It's about Fuji-kun."  
When Hiro passes him the sheet, Chama doesn't even know what to expect from the text scratched in chicken tracks all over. It's obvious that Motoo was writing it in a hurry; the lines wave up and down, and Motoo's hideous handwriting gets completely unreadable in some places. Chama lifts his head to ask Hiro how on Earth he managed to make out what's written here, but there is no one there before him. Hiro is sitting on the bed next to Motoo, speaking softly, trying to explain himself from the looks of it. His look now is the exact copy of Masu's earlier one, which is sheer confusion and agonizing attempts to pull his wits together. Chama huffs at the ridiculous scene they're all making and finally gets to reading.  
It becomes instantly clear why Motoo was mumbling about a cat - the song turns out to be about a cat. Yet Masu was right too, saying it was about Motoo himself. Chama can't begin to fathom why the cat has glass eyes but he does know why it is determined to always look up in the sky, greet every new day with a smile and sing its blues as long as it has a voice. Again, Chama understands its desire to leave something after itself in this world, even a small piece, a melody everyone will love and remember. It's a good song. A great, impressive song that deserves a lot of praise, and yet, right now Chama can't think of any to reward Motoo with. He can't even think about the song at the moment. There's only one thought, a painful realization pulsing inside his head, telling him that Motoo hasn't flown away from them, from Chama, yet. Up to this day, he hasn't even tried to take off. What he did today was spread his wings before his bandmates for the very first time to show off the span and plume. At the same time Chama realizes – and accepts it with surprising ease – that none of them will ever compete with Motoo in terms of musical talent and ambitions. They will never be his equals because Motoo will always fly a little faster and higher. But from now on Chama is also certain, like never before, he is certain that he will do whatever it takes to follow Motoo right along. 

Hiatus

When Chama was making the decision to follow Motoo on the path of becoming a professional musician, he didn't assume for a second that the others might have something different in their plans for the future. He should have. Masu and Hiro announced they were going to take entrance exams for college, and since that day Chama can't get rid of the feeling that, instead of supporting Motoo, they’ve latched themselves to him like a dead weight. Apparently, Motoo doesn't think so himself. Every time they touch the subject of Masu's hesitation and Hiro's even stronger hesitation he calmly reminds Chama that he's willing to wait for them for as long as it takes. That he will go out on stage only as a member of the band and never alone. That he doesn't have it in him to brave the music industry without their support. All this he methodically repeats for the hundredth time as Chama rages and sputters out his hundredth apology for two idiots who slow Motoo down with their lack of motivation on his way to big stage. Chama's own predicament is just as bad though. His parents have set certain conditions for him: he must earn a chef's license and make it into college and only after that he's free to go wherever. And of course, no one will give him that license just out of kindness; Chama will have to break some sweat in front of a stove. For three years. 

He endures only one in Sakura, then leaves for Tokyo and moves in with Motoo to his tiny hellhole of a flat. The next six months they spend in the same suspended state. Motoo works at twenty places at once and still finds some time to handle the band's business. Chama burns his youth away in the kitchen, learning a thousand and one ways to cook curry. Masu goes to college studiously, and Hiro... Hiro seems to have lain face down on his life's path, refusing to budge. Hiro failed his entrance exams and doesn't know how to tell the others, so he starts avoiding them and they don't see him for weeks. And one day Chama finally snaps. Lying flat on his back, unable to move a finger after the whole day of cooking, he grimly watches his roommate. Gray from exhaustion, Motoo sits in front of a cheap laptop, booking the band's shows in the clubs and live houses of Shimokitazawa. That night Chama realizes he can't do it to Motoo anymore. None of them has a right to drag down the only member of the band who's still keeping it together. Motoo hides it from them but Chama knows from a sneak peek at his email that he is being pestered regularly with label offers to kick start a solo career or even form a new band solely for him. Motoo keeps declining those offers, still waiting for Hiro to get a grip and decide on his future, waiting for Masu and Chama to be finished with their education. Motoo goes round in circles giving them time while all the doors are wide open for him. Chama keeps winding himself up even after Motoo snaps his laptop shut, drops down on the futon and promptly passes out. He had never fallen asleep so fast before, always rolling over in bed for hours, shaking Chama awake too, demanding that he keep him company until they both drifted off. Now there are dark circles around his eyes and his face is too thin, and even though they share a room, Chama can't remember the last time he saw him smiling. The former half of the year Motoo has always been busy but never happy. With friends as shitty as them, he will never be happy. Chama swallows first tears, silent and salty, letting loose of all his pent up emotions. Yet the sadder and bitterer he feels for Motoo - and himself, too - the louder his sobs become, until he goes into an outright bawling. There's a tiny, sober thought standing out amidst the vortex of his emotions, telling him to quiet down before he wakes his very tired friend with his wails. However, one brief glance at Motoo confirms that he's nowhere near waking anyway.  
"Fuji-kun! Fuji-kun!" Chama whimpers, shaking him by his shoulders. "Fuji-kun, wake up!"  
Motoo opens his eyes and raises himself on his elbow with a violent jerk.  
"What? I've slept in?" he asks thickly, trying to focus his gaze on Chama's tear-stained face.  
"No, not yet. But Fuji-kun, you don't have to wait for us anymore! Do you understand? You gotta move forward, don't wait for us!"  
"So I haven's slept in?" Motoo blinks slowly, rubbing his bleary eyes with clumsy fingers until, at last, he manages to gather his wits. He looks at Chama again, with more awareness this time. "Why are you crying?"  
"I don't want you to hold yourself back because of us," Chama sobs, having lost his zeal a bit while Motoo was coming to his senses. "What's the use of us to you? Hide-chan is in college. Masukawa can't make up his mind."  
"What about you?"  
"What about me? You can find a thousand other people like me, only better. I love music but I don't live and breathe it like you do," Chama says, beginning to weep again.  
"I see," Motoo hums. He raises from his futon and makes a beeline for a bathroom, slightly staggering on his way there. He re-emerges a minute later with a glass of water and a box of tissues. "Here, blow," he commands, handing a few of them over to Chama. "You're flooding my sheets with your snot."  
Chama blows his nose obediently, then drinks a full glass of water. When Motoo lies back down and pats his futon in invitation, Chama crawls quickly under his blanket. Motoo covers them both, hugging Chama tightly and placing his chin on top of his head.  
"That's quite a surge you've got going," he says in a lightly amused tone, but with a quiet tenderness too. "Are you still crying down there?" Tucked into a snug darkness, Chama nods silently. "Cry away. Just don't blow your nose into my shirt."  
Chama hears a smile in his voice and that's enough for him to burst into tears anew. Motoo strokes his head and back with calm, steady movements, his breath tickling the top of Chama's head, lips touching his hair ever so softly. Once Chama has seemingly exhausted his reserve of tears for the night, Motoo begins to talk. It’s his everlasting tale again, of how he sees no sense in making music alone. Of how going into the music industry at large has never been his ultimate goal. Of him not wanting to go up on big stage at any cost, with any band. Of him wanting to debut with them and only them. Chama heard all these verses countless times, but it's only now that they finally reach him. It's only now that he genuinely believes in them.  
"Don't leave me behind," Motoo whispers into the crown of his head. "We're all one band, aren't we? I want to be with you guys."  
"No!" Chama sobs brokenly.  
"No, what?"  
Suffocated by his overwhelming feelings, Chama wriggles his way from under the wet blanket and looks at Motoo through the slits of his puffy eyes with as much determination as he can muster.  
"I won't ever leave you."  
"No?" Motoo sniffs with a silent giggle when Chama shakes his head fiercely. "I'm happy then."  
They lie together on a pillow, so close to each other that Motoo's cool breath tickles Chama's chin. Motoo brushes tangled bangs away from his eyes, wipes the lingering tears off his lashes with his thumbs, then kisses him softly - on his forehead, on his cheekbone, on the tip of his nose. Then, finally, with the slightest touch, on his lips. Too burned out after a long cry to reflect on a nature of this kiss, Chama accepts it tranquilly, wrapping his hands around Motoo and closing his eyes tiredly.  
They don't get a wink of sleep for the rest of the night, interlacing a more sedate discussion of their future with kisses and quiet caresses. Come morning, they part without saying a word about last night.

UST 

Nestling in an apartment not much larger than a kennel, they have to sleep on narrow futons within a hair's breadth from each other. Not that it bothers either of them. They're long used to a mutual physical proximity bordering on intimacy, so sprawling together in a heap of tangled limbs doesn't feel unnatural to them. When winter comes and their crappy heater can no longer warm up the whole room, Chama migrates to Motoo's futon taking only his blanket with him, to throw it over as a second layer. Most of the time they just fall asleep instantly, too spent after a day of work, evening performances and midnight afterparties that follow their successful shows. Only, there are also times when Chama's body demands more than just a cozy warmth and unassuming touches. Sometimes heat gathers in him and his whole body buzzes with tension making him want to flip Motoo over and do to him all the things he does to girls in love hotels. After the band's debut, neither of them have been suffering a shortage of willing fangirls and such desires rarely bother Chama at home. Yet sometimes he can't be satisfied with a girl's body. Sometimes he yearns for Motoo.  
At times when it mounts up past his endurance, he quietly climbs out of bed and leaves for the bathroom to get rid of his little problem. Then, returning just as quietly, he climbs back into the nest of warm blankets, complacent and ready to sleep. Bathroom trips don't always help though, and on those unfortunate nights Chama has to roll over in bed for hours on end, waiting for his arousal to die down so he can finally have some rest. And on one of those nights Motoo, very untimely awoken Motoo, catches him in his predicament.  
Chama is too distracted by his yet another hormonal outburst to notice anything out of ordinary, until a hand presses between his shoulder blades and Motoo's husky voice asks him if he's alright. Chama's whole body gives a violent start. He squeezes his eyes tight and curls himself into a ball, shoving his hands between his thighs.  
"I'm fine, just cold," he says. "Go back to sleep, Fuji-kun."  
And of course Motoo doesn't want to leave him alone now. Not in the moment when his playful heed is the last thing Chama needs. Motoo tries to roll him over, probably to take a curious look at his face. After several futile attempts, he gives up on forceful methods and simply glues himself to Chama from behind, chest to back, thighs to thighs, crotch to butt.  
"I'll warm you up," he says, yawning softly and wrapping his arms around Chama. Soundly cutting off all of his ways to retreat.  
They spend the next few minutes positioned like that. Motoo has fallen right back into sleep judging from his deep and steady breaths, and what wouldn't Chama give right now to follow suit. Instead, he does his best to even out his own breathing, to subdue his pounding heart and further, to keep his hands off his aching hard-on. And further still, to keep himself from rubbing against Motoo's hot, clinging body. To resist the temptation to turn around and start making mistakes. Chama grits his teeth and counts up to a hundred. When he thinks he can untangle himself from Motoo's vice-like grasp without a risk to wake him up again, he begins to slide away cautiously. On the instant, the hands coil around him even tighter and Motoo's voice, not a whit sleepy, vibrates lowly right over his ear, "Where are you going?"  
Chama snaps. Darting off the futon, he runs for the bathroom, slams the door shut behind him and locks himself there until morning. 

After that incident, Chama is certain he's doomed to suffer every single night until his paycheck is sufficient enough for renting a separate apartment. Then he will be able to move out without a need to explain to Motoo why he has suddenly changed his mind about sleeping together despite the nights not getting any warmer and their heater any more viable. His certainty doesn't last for long though, only for a few more days. A few days during which nothing changes, and they sleep face to face again, breathing each other's air. And then Motoo finds himself a girlfriend.  
She's nothing special, just a random girl. Fairly cute, of the same age as them, and soon it becomes obvious she's got involved with Motoo mainly because of his status of a rising rock star. It's just as obvious though that Motoo dates her only for sex. He's too enamored with his music, art projects, Hiro, cats and a thousand insignificant but still important things that fill his life to have any room left for a true romantic love.  
They have a long-standing agreement not to bring girls home, and in the beginning, Motoo follows this rule without fail. Going out on dates, he takes her to the numerous bars and clubs of Shimokitozawa, rather far off from the places the band frequents, and to neighboring love hotels. This phase ends rather soon though, apparently when she begins to demand a larger involvement in his life. Motoo introduces her first to the band's afterparties, then to the backstage of live houses and finally, as a finishing touch, to his and Chama's own apartment. Coming home one night after an exhausting double shift Chama encounters a scene he would gladly live without for the rest of his days. The girl, whose name he didn't even bother to memorize, shrieks upon noticing him and falls off Motoo. Without a word, Chama turns on his heels and walks out the door, not taking a chance to see Motoo's face. He heads straight to Masu's place - to stay the night and also ask for some money from their shared fund so he can rent a flat first thing in the morning, or even a room. A storeroom will suffice, really, he won't be picky.  
Motoo breaks up with his girlfriend the very next day. Still, he doesn't ask him to come back when Chama says he is going to live with Masu for a while, until he can find himself a separate apartment. Explaining the reasons of such a sudden parting to their friends, neither of them mention last night's incident.

Vacation

A well-earned vacation that the band has been asking of their management for years arrives with a violent outburst of their unstated leader. It is extremely rare that Motoo loses his temper, preferring to react in passive-aggressive ways and never resorting to physical ones. That's why everyone in a boardroom experiences sort of a brain freeze when, infuriated by the irresponsibility of the collaborating studio's agents, Motoo bangs his fist on a tabletop with such force that tea spills out of several teacups. The table stays in one piece, but that, Chama thinks lamely, is only because it's really massive and also made of oak. He manages to come to his senses within the few seconds that Motoo spends giving the startled agents his notorious death glare. Chama shoots an alarmed look at Motoo's fist, its knuckles white from how hard it's clenched, but he has no time to react before Motoo storms out of the room. Shoving his belongings into his pockets, Chama has half a mind to tell the bandmates that they're in charge of a diplomatic part of the conference now, but quickly loses that thought. As he runs out of the room, all he can think about is how many bones Motoo crashed in his hand, slamming it against a huge and sturdy piece of wood.  
Getting to their shared neighborhood, Chama takes a quick dive into a pharmacy to buy compresses, bandage rolls and some herbal sedatives too, just in case. Then he makes a beeline to Motoo's house, certain that his friend went straight home to brood and marinate quietly in resentment for the whole world. Chama owns a key duplicate to Motoo's front door for emergency cases. He decides, however, that it will be wiser not to use it this time and simply presses the entry buzzer. Predictably enough, Motoo opens the door with his left hand, nursing his right near his chest. Just as predictably, it doesn't look good at all. Without saying a word Chama goes into a living room, empties a bag of pharmacy groceries over a coffee table and reaches for Motoo's wrist. And that's where his silence gives out.  
"You're such an idiot!" he hisses, gently settling Motoo's swollen, purple hand over his lap and tearing the wrapping off the first cold compress. "Should’ve banged your head instead, since you don’t use it anyway. Your hands are your work tools, do you even remember that, you dumbass? What if you broke it? What are you going to play with, your teeth? Moron!"  
Motoo's answer to all of this is a grim silence. Chama continues to tongue-lash him up heal and down dale as he wraps the compresses around his hand and ties them down with bandage rolls, until only the tips of his fingers remain uncovered, peeking out of thick layers of white gauze. Done with applying first aid, Chama inspects Motoo's gloomy but overall unperturbed face, then tunes in to his own inner state. Deciding that he is in a worse condition right now, he downs enough sedatives to down a horse and calls a taxi to take Motoo to a hospital to see a traumatologist.  
Nurses in the hospital mistake Motoo for a boxer who has happened to crash his fist against someone's hard, oaken jaw. Chama would laugh his ass off at that, if not for the magical sedative effect of herbs.

The management grants them a whole month of a well-deserved rest. Of course, their generosity begins and ends with the simple fact that Motoo won't be able to either play or write, or move his right hand altogether any time soon. Miraculously, he managed not to break anything, but a maim he's earned himself is bad enough that doctors forbid Motoo to move his hand until the swelling lessens considerably. Chama would also plaster it, just to be sure, but alas, Motoo's consulting doctor has deemed him reasonable enough to follow the regimen of treatment unaided. Chama's own limit of faith in Motoo's prudence is temporarily drained, that's why he decides to take matters into his own hands and make sure Motoo will be staying away from guitar, piano and all other instruments during this month. For that purpose, he fills up all kinds of forms on Motoo’s behalf, buys plane tickets and books hotel rooms. They're going to Europe.  
In retrospect, Chama should have asked their bandmates if they wanted to join them on this trip. On top of that, he should have asked Motoo personally if he wanted to bring Hiro along. Yet during several days of travel arrangements and preparations Motoo never once comments his actions, letting Chama take it as a silent consent to travel together, just the two of them. In fact, Motoo barely utters a word these days. Either he's still mad at the animation studio that almost ruined a project he was poring over for months, or it's something else entirely. In which case Chama can only hope the new cause has nothing to do with him.  
It gets a little better once they arrive in Amsterdam. The longer they walk through peculiar European streets and alleys the more Motoo becomes himself again. The proverbial thundercloud above his head gradually disperses until, at last, he returns to his natural state of mind, with goofy smiles and an itch for adventure. Having sniffed the electrifying scent of freedom, he chooses the most dubious sounding places mentioned in a guide-book to drag Chama to. Upon arriving at those places, he tries to ask for directions to even more dubious ones and then orders Chama to do the same, since his English is slightly less abysmal. Ultimately, it leads them to a very shady looking hole in the wall with no name to go by. The place is mostly dark and narrow, with just enough room for three small tables and a counter, which they opt to sit at and watch their drinks being mixed and fixed and set aflame. Done with his witchcraft, a bartender watches with a knowing smirk as Motoo fearlessly downs a shot of his shamanic concoction. Promptly deciding that he won’t be the one responsible for his friend's lethal poisoning, Chama resigns himself to the same fate and knocks his own shot back. The concoction turns out to be strong and sweet, thick like a syrup, with a tinge of herbs and spices in an aftertaste. Alcohol almost doesn't feel on the tongue but it packs quite a punch, and Chama watches with growing horror and fading consciousness as Motoo - the unable to hold more than one bottle of beer in his stomach Motoo - progressively gets as shitfaced as Chama himself. Later he watches, as if from outside his body, as the bartender along with a waiter pry the hotel name out of him, then load him and Motoo in a taxi and promptly send them off.  
They come round in a hotel room, lying together in one bed. Cracking his eyes open, Chama expects the full wrath of Amsterdam hangover come crashing down on him, but nothing extraordinary happens. He feels a bit queasy, there's a light buzzing in his ears and his entire body is awash with a strange aching languor. It seems like he's still drunk. Chama looks around slowly, noticing his bags scattered around the room. Deciding to wake Motoo up and send him to his own room, he turns around and freezes. Motoo has been awake for a while now judging by an alert, albeit still a little unfocused look he hypnotizes Chama with. Motoo shudders all over and moans softly, probably feeling the same sweet pulling under his skin. Motoo crawls closer to him, works his right hand free from under a blanket and stretches it out. The bandages got too loose, Chama registers absently, catching the hand near his face and bringing it to his lips. Motoo moans louder this time, then closes his eyes and snuggles against Chama with his whole body. That is, with his whole winter attire, all of its multiple layers. They managed to get under the blanket but remained in jackets, pants and, it appears, even boots. Chama draws back a bit to unzip Motoo's puffer jacket, still pressing his palm firmly to his lips. The undressing process goes much slower than they would both like it to but they're too determined to neither leave the bed nor use four hands instead of just two. Chama is irrationally afraid that once he lets Motoo's hand go, it will immediately get hurt again. Motoo, judging by his shallow breathing and occasional shivers running down his body, is too fond of the feeling of his palm being peppered with kisses from wrist to fingertips to let it stop. By the time they get rid of all clothes, including socks and boxers, Chama could care less about reasons, circumstances and consequences. He kisses Motoo like he's been dreaming to kiss him for all these years. Like it's his only miraculous opportunity and there will be no other chance in his life. And Motoo reciprocates fully.  
They probably had something extra mixed into their drinks after all, because Chama can't write this state off as a simple insobriety. He has never been so overwhelmed with arousal that his brain would just shut down and his body would move on its own accord, and he himself would only be able to moan and roll his eyes and cry out in bliss. Motoo was not much better though. And his moans and cries were no quieter. They couldn't even reach any relatively engaging stages, going off from mere touches again and again. Chama regrets only that, knowing there won't be a second attempt, and this whole scenario will never repeat itself.  
"It was just fooling around, Fuji-kun, just drunken foolishness!" Chama smiles reassuringly at well-rested and completely sober Motoo the next evening. "It's not going to happen again! Don't worry."  
"I'm not worried," Motoo says, sounding unfazed - too unfazed for a guy who's supposed to suffer from gnawing of conscience. And proceeds to drag Chama to another seedy bar that same evening.  
Similar and gradually evolving scenarios of "fooling around while drunk" keep happening to them almost every night, occasionally without much booze involved. Never once Chama finds it in him to stop Motoo or himself and remind them both that sleeping with a member of a band which includes two other members isn't the soundest of ideas. A more private, emotional aspect of the matter he keeps safely confined even from himself. They're best friends with Motoo and that's it, he admonishes himself, diligently not thinking about what might have happened if Hiro went on this trip with them.  
In Paris, where they are to spend the second week of the vacation, they cut the Amsterdam edition of booze shenanigans short and spend most of the time just wandering around the city, sightseeing. The weather they're granted for the week is sunny and frosty. Getting ready to go for another walk, Motoo hides his eyes behind dark glasses, pulls his knitted beanie down to his very eyelashes and wraps his scarf around his face until only the tip of his nose remains visible. Stepping outside camouflaged like that, he offers his hand in a woolen mitten to Chama.  
"What?" Chama asks, staring at the fluffy palm in confusion.  
"Give me your hand."  
"Why?"  
"Because I want to hold your hand, dumbass."  
Chama puts his hand in Motoo's, resigning himself to spending the next few hours with a paranoid awareness that half of Paris might be watching them, and half of Japan too - via satellites and probably broadcasting. 

The conversation Chama has been mentally preparing for since Amsterdam occurs on the night before they leave for Japan. It's Chama who starts it in a roundabout way, as usual, and it's Motoo who cuts to the chase, as always.  
"Nothing should change in the ways we act around each other," he says. "Especially in front of Masu and Masukawa. They know us inside out so they'll be the first ones to notice if something is different."  
"I'm aware! No need to spell it out, you know."  
Motoo doesn't react to Chama's irritated outburst, asking him directly instead, "Do you want us to return to what we were before this trip or remain like we are now?"  
"Like we are now, huh," Chama says, avoiding to look at him. "You know full well we can't remain like we are now. Once we're back in Japan, everything will return to the way it always was."  
"Yes, like it always was. And I will love you like I always did."  
"Oh, just shut up!" Chama shouts, feeling his face blaze up so hard that his eyes begin to prickle with tears. It feels too stupid to hide in a bathroom right now so he runs out on a balcony and shelters himself there.  
Too bad the balcony door can't be locked from the outer side. Motoo comes quietly from behind and winds his hands around Chama's torso, lacing his fingers in a lock to anchor his hold.  
"You can't run away from my love, Yoshiumi-kun," he says with warm irony and kisses Chama behind his ear.  
No kidding, Chama muses, also with irony, although his sounds rather bitter in his own head. True, there's nowhere to run at this point. And it's really not his style to jump over the railing out of unrequited feelings.  
"Don't be stupid, Chama," Motoo continues in the meantime. "Our lives don't end tomorrow and neither does our relationship. We can't get away from each other. Bound by a contract, you know."  
Chama snickers despite himself, then decides to ask nonetheless, "What if I want us to remain like we are now?"  
"Then we'll be like we are now. Come to my place tomorrow night, let's stand on the balcony and freeze together."  
"No really, Fujiwara, just shut up," Chama snorts, trying to jab his elbow into Motoo's side.  
He still grasps the underlying message, of course. Motoo loves them all, his bandmates and oldest friends, equally. He can't love them any differently, simply uncapable of it.  
He loves them equally.  
But it's only Chama who has a spare key to his house.

Tomodachi no Uta

Chama breathes on his fingers, stiff and almost purple by now, then throws yet another glance at his left wrist. His watch tells him Motoo is already twenty minutes late. Chama could've stopped freezing his limbs off like an idiot and go into the studio to start working on his part of a new song alone. Still, he keeps standing stubbornly outside, two steps from the door, waiting for Motoo to appear.  
And Motoo does appear. Wearing the same cozy jacket and striped pants with suspenders as yesterday, when the band gathered to listen to his new song. A knitted beanie with a bob pulled down to his eyelashes, a knapsack behind his back and a guitar case in his hand. So many years together, but Chama still can't hold back a silly, joyful smile every time he sees Motoo. Apparently it can be cured with neither time nor intimacy. Motoo is wearing his glasses today - that, or he just figured out no one else would be fidgeting from foot to foot in front of the studio. Either way, he has noticed Chama from afar and is now waving at him in a greeting or an apology, or both.  
"It's seriously getting out of hand, Fujiwara, half an hour!" Chama tells him, clattering a blues of a frozen heart with his teeth, while Motoo fumbles with keys, trying to open the front door. "Give it here, you blind mole, you're just useless!"  
Not in the least offended, Motoo hands him a set of keys and leans on a door-post with a lazy grace.  
"If you dropped by to hurry me up I wouldn't be late."  
"If I start dropping by to hurry you up you'll quit trying to be an independant, responsible adult altogether. You're thirty two, Fujiwara, and you keep acting like you're still in middle school!" Chama grouches away, rattling the keys indignantly. "Why is your jacket unbuttoned? Where's your scarf? Been too long since you lost your voice last time, hasn't it?"  
"Where are the others?" Motoo interrupts his stream of curses after the door lock finally yields and they enter the studio.  
"It's just the two of us today, we're supposed to work on the bass part," Chama says slowly, menacingly. "Don't tell me you've forgotten about that too."  
Motoo shuts the door, locks it securely and gives Chama his most charming smile.  
"Then, first of all, let's work on my earnest apologies."


End file.
